Wednesday, December 06, 2006

Deleting Orkut

I finaly did it. Deleted my Orkut account. I got all these weirdos asking to be friends, OK, maybe there was one normal person, but for the rest, mostly weirdos, and I couldn't understand why. Before deleting it, I went back to read what I had written and a sort of lightbulb went off.

OK, there was this one guy from India (where else?) who wanted to get together for fun and games on his visit to this, our very own, teh tareky emerald isle. His "groups" consisted of porn sites, mostly. Ugh! He even propositioned my dear, straight-as-an-arrow cousin, and I thought, geez, you sure are desperate.

Well, anyway, my friend Hrish could have told me why. On re-reading my profile, I noticed that under "activities" I put: You mean other than sex? Under sexual preferences, I put: bi-curious. Are you starting to see the problem here? Because I sure am. As for my dear cousin, um...I kinda wrote her profile. Which means she got lambasted by the same number of creeps and weirdos.

The last straw was funnily enough, neither a creep nor a weirdo. Just someone who disagreed with my taste in books. I can take a lot of things. But not someone who disagrees with my choice of reading matter. Or who disses my favourite authors.

9 comments:

Anonymous
said...

Hi babe! Guess who this is? Hint: am very much a virgin when it comes to posting comments on blogs. Another hint: I ate so much of your choc cake before I left for a butt-freezing environment, that I felt like I'd never EVER want to have chocolate again. Am, of course, munching on some dark chocolate as I write this ;-).

Yeah you do! :) But seriously miss you there! :( Oh well all good things finally come to an end. Sometime even I get that urge to delete my profile but then I meet so many of my old lost friends that it becomes impossible to click Delete...

About Me

I am a product of long corridors, empty sunlit rooms, upstairs indoor silences, attics explored in solitude, distant noises of gurgling cisterns and pipes and the noise of wind under the tiles. Also, of endless books. (CS Lewis)